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I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found

A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers, Which I to wear about mine arm was bound,

That each of us might know that all was ours; Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes ?

I, that did wear the ring her mother left,

I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed, I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,

I, who did make her blush when I was named; Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead Love be awaked ?

I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep,

Like Jealousy o'er-watched with Desire, Was ever warned modesty to keep,

While her breath speaking kindled Nature's fire, Must I look on a-cold while others warm them? Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?


(To be found also in“ England's Helicon,” where it is signed

“ Ignoto.”]
Away with these self-loving lads.
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads !
Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep,
In love of those that lye asleep;

For Cupid is a meadow 2 god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.

Sweet 3 Cupid's shafts, like Destiny,
Do causeless 4 good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow;
Reward upon his wing 5 doth go :
What fools are they that have not known
That Love likes no laws but his own.

My songs they be of Cynthia's praise, . I wear her rings on holidays,

On every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same :

• Engl. Hel. "them."

• So all the copies ; but as this word seems to afford no very definite meaning, Mr. Ritson, in his Songs, prints " merry."

3 Eng. Hel. “ God.” 4 Eng. Hel.“ Doth either.” 5 Eng. Hel. “feet."

Where honour Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.

The worth that worthinese should move
Is love, that is the bow of love ;
And love as well thee foster 2 can
As can the mighty nobleman.

Sweet saint, 3 'tis true, you worthy be,
Yet, without love, nought worth to me!

The Dream.

All my sensès, like beacon's flame,

Gave alarum to Desire
To take arms in Cynthia's name, :

And set all my thoughts on fire.

Up I start, believing well

To see if Cynthia were awake;
Wonders I saw, who can tell ?

And thus unto myself I spake :

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“ Sweet god, Cupid, where am I?

“That by pale Diana's light " Such rich beauties do espy

“ As harm our senses with delight.

" Am I borne up to the skies?

“ See where Jove and Venus shine, “ Shewing in her heavenly eyes

“ That Desire is divine,"

I stept forth to touch the sky,

I, a god by Cupid's dreams; Cynthia, who did naked lie,

Runs away, like silver streams;

Leaving hollow banks behind,

Who can neither forward move, Nor, if rivers be unkind,

Turn away, or leave to love.

There stand I, like men that preach

From the execution-place, At their death content to teach

All the world with their disgrace.

He that lets his Cynthia lie

Naked on a bed of play, To say prayers ere she die,

Teacheth Time to run away.

Let no love-desiring heart

In the stars go seek his fate, Love is only Nature's art,

Wonder hinders love and hate.

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